


heredity

by akire_yta



Series: CSI Discworld [1]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, archived fic, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg’s family is a little twisted</p>
            </blockquote>





	heredity

**Author's Note:**

> for Tori's birthday, many years ago.

The rat was his first warning. Greg lifted up a rack of test tubes and nearly dropped them when a little black robe waved a miniature scythe at him. “”Squeak.”

Greg put the rack down heavily. “Oh fuck. Not now!”

“SQUEAK!”

Greg took a deep breath as someone rapped the doorframe to the lab. “Yo, Greg,” Warrick called out. “You have a visitor.”

He forced himself to keep his voice level, as if he wasn’t currently engaged in conversation a with a skeletal representative of Rattus Norvegicus on his lab bench. “Visitor?”

He didn’t need to turn around to detect Warrick’s intrigue. “Yeah. Your mother.”

“Oh fuck.”

~#~

To add insult to injury, when Greg swung around the corner into the visitors area a minute later, he walked in on his mother in intense conversation with his boss.

Pasting what he hoped looked like his usual cheery smile onto his face, Greg strolled past the rows of hard plastic seating to stand over them. “Hello all,” he said. It seemed the best approach given Grissom was right there. If they were alone, Greg would have no doubt gone with the more traditional ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’ instead.

His mother stood, forcing Griss to scramble to his feet in polite reflex. Greg jammed his hands further into his pockets and bounced on the balls of his feet in a way precisely calibrated to annoy, just waiting for whatever it was to drop. “Gregory,” she said in tones so politely sharp you could have shaved the Patrician with them. “I was just apologizing to Mr Grissom here for distracting you from your…work.” Somehow, in his mother’s mouth, the word ‘work’ sounded strangely like ‘crapping your life away’ without being so crass as to actually say it. “But I do need to speak to you rather urgently.”

Griss took his cue. “Well, if you’ll excuse me.” He took off back up the hall. Greg manfully suppressed the urge to chase after him, begging to go with him and hide. Instead, he turned back to his mother. 

“Well?”

She took a deep breath. “Would it kill you to be civil?”

“Yes.”

She muttered something that sounded vaguely like ‘At least then you’d be grandfathers’ problem.’ The dark lock of hair that had been ruthlessly pinned back escaped its clip and began to curl itself into a double helix.

“Hey,” he snapped. “Normal hair or not at all.”

His mother eyed his own wildly gelled and spiked hair but said nothing as she tucked her own wayward lock back into place. “Of course, Gregory.”

Greg sighed, feeling his shoulders hunch as they did everytime something reminded him of what he was before. “Listen, you never do anything without a reason. Least of all come to the Roundworld. So just say your piece and go.”

She drew herself up to her full height. “Your sister is marrying Lord Terry three weeks from today. Your presence is required. No excuses.” She stepped in closer, looking into her sons’ eyes. “And since he is now the head of the Guild of Clockmakers, none of your usual funny business please. You know how they are.”

She turned sharply on her little school-marm’s heel and strode for the door. Glancing around quickly to check for an audience, he waited until she was at the door before calling after her. “Can I bring my boyfriend?”

His mothers’ eyes flashed. “You can show up with Bilious on one arm and the Hogfather on the other for all I care. Just as long as you show up and play nicely.” Then she was gone.

~#~

It had been a slow night in the crime lab. Normally, Greg liked the quiet, it gave him a chance to catch up on lab gossip and use office computers to surf the net. But tonight it meant that everyone else had time too. No one was surfing the net. They were too busy gossiping. He leaned against the door of the breakroom and listened.

“Black streak, you see that?”

“I was too busy looking at the clothes.”

“I admit, it was very Victorian school mistress.”

Greg gave into the urge to face palm. “That’s because she is a school mistress. Head mistress, actually.” He recalled his own education. “And the Victorian thing isn’t that far off the mark either.”

Sara twisted around on the couch to face him, completely unrepentant at being caught out talking about him. “You don’t talk about your family, Greg. I guess we all just pictured…well…”

Catherine smirked. “Hippies. Relics of the 60’s. Peace, love, and all that stuff.” 

Greg walked over to the coffee station. “How old do you think I am, Cath?”

“Young enough that I could be your mother,” she shot back easily.

“Kill my hopes,” he joked back, miming being stabbed through the heart. Unfortunately, the others weren’t going to be dissuaded from their object of investigation so easily. 

“Come on Greg, sounds like there’s a story here.”

“There is,” he said. He took a sip of his coffee. “But I’m not telling it.”

He ignored their groans and sailed out of the break room and back to his lab. Three weeks. He had three weeks to get out of having to take a trip home.

Because there was no way in hell he was going to that wedding.

~#~ 

Nick’s arm snaked over his stomach, tugging him closer. “So. Why did your mother stop by the lab today?”

Greg’s eyes snapped open. “Nick,” he said very carefully. “New house rule. Lets not discuss my mother – or any family member for that matter – in bed ever again, please? Ever?”

Nick laughed and planted a kiss on the side of his face. “Aww, come on G. I was out doing the takeout run, I missed it all. Rick tells me she looked stern.”

Greg sucked at his bottom lip. “Oh yeah. That’s my mother. Look up stern in any dictionary, you’ll find a picture of Susan Sto-Helit.”

“Sto-Helit?” For the second time that day, Greg gave into the facepalm. Instead of deflecting Nick’s curiousity, he’d fanned it. “Not Sanders?”

Greg burrowed further under the covers. “No. Not Sanders.”

Nick pulled the covers back. ‘Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,’ Greg thought fatalistically. “Is that your fathers’ name?”

Greg took a deep breath and prepared himself for the inevitable. “No, actually. I guess my fathers’ surname is Ludd, if it’s anything.”

“Ludd?” Greg’s back was pressed into Nick’s chest. He could feel the laugh he was trying to suppress. “Greg Ludd. Naw, doesn’t have the same ring to it.” The arm around his stomach squeezed him slightly. “So, where does Sanders come from?”

He had known this day was coming. He was just kind of hoping that he could hold it off a little longer. But whatever personal disagreements he had with his mother, he couldn’t deny the quality of her education. And one of the earliest things he had learnt from her was that you could only hide who you were for so long. In the end, the truth won out. 

He also knew he wanted to spend a lifetime getting to know Nick. Unfortunately, that meant Nick also had to get to know him. All of him.

“My Great-Grandfather suggested it, actually. He liked the play on words.” He grimaced into the pillow.

“Great-grandfather? Wow! He must be pretty old.”

“He’s certainly…timeless. He’s the only one in the family I actually got along with. Well, that’s not true. My father and I had uncomfortable silence down to a fine art.” He shrugged in Nick’s embrace. “His…work…it took a lot of time. Same for Great-Grandfather, actually. But he had this way of making you feel…special, no matter how much he had to do.” Like that plague in Howanadaland during his thirteenth birthday. The old bastard still remembered to send a present, which is more than what he could say for his father. 

“Your great-grandfather still works.” He could hear the innocent intrigue in Nick’s voice and winced pre-emptively into the pillow. “What does he do?”

“He’s the Reaper.”

Nick kissed his scarred shoulder. “Farmer? Does he own his own property?”

Greg twisted in his arms so they were facing each other. “Not farmer, Nick. Reaper. As in Grim. Tall fellow, rather skinny. Carries his own scythe and has a strong professional interest in hourglasses.”

Nick stared at him blankly. “So what you’re trying to tell me is…?”

“My great-grandfather is Death.” Nick’s face still wore a look of blank incomprehension. “One of the four of the Apocalypse? Rides a pale horse.” He grinned. “Whose name is Binky, by the way.”

That snapped Nick out of his stupor. “Wha?”

Greg sat up at took Nick by the shoulders. “I’ve been trying to think about how to tell you this, Nick. But perhaps straight up is best.” But now he was here on the cusp, the words wouldn’t come. “My family is…twisted,” he managed at last.

Nick shrugged. “Every family has its quirks.”

“Well, our quirks would warrant a study by Crick and Watson,” Greg shot back with more venom than he intended. “Shit, sorry. It’s just…I left home for a reason. Seeing her again, unexpected, it’s left me a bit…tense.”

Nick carefully slipped out of the sheets and handed Greg his robe. “I think we’d best keep that house rule about not discussing family in bed. Come on.”

~#~

Greg sipped at his coffee without tasting as he watched Nick pore over his hastily drawn diagram with the intensity he normally only brought to crime scenes and hot sex.

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” he said finally. “Your great-grandfather is Death.” 

“Yes.”

“Revelations. Chapter six. Verses 1-8?”

Greg shrugged. “Well, that’s the local representative of the franchise, but I think you get the idea.”

Nick moved on with only a mild glare. His finger traced the crude family tree. “His daughter is Ysabell, who married…” He stuttered over the name. “Mort, apprentice of Death. And they had a daughter, Susan Sto-Helit, who is your mother.” Greg nodded for him to continue. “Who married…Time?” Nick looked up in frustration. “Listen G, did Warrick and Sara help you set this up? No, Cath. This is exactly the kind of joke she’d find funny.”

Greg put down the coffee cup, knowing what was coming. “It isn’t a joke, Nick.”

But Nick was on a roll. “Come on, G. How could Death have a daughter. I mean, I know it wasn’t something discussed in Sunday school, but I think someone would’ve mentioned Death dating.”

“Grandmother Ysabell was adopted.”

“Adopted.” Nick’s tone was so flat it made pancakes feel bloated. “But I thought you said your mother filled in for…for Death from time to time.”

“Yes. It’s kind of like the family business.”

Nick laughed. “Death is the family business? Via adoption? How?”

“Not all heredity is covered by alleles and base pairs, Nick. Some things are passed on down the family through the soul.”

Nick rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Has the pressure been too much, Greg? Have I missed some warning sign? Is this a cry for help?”

There was nothing for it. He subconsciously straightened his shoulders. “SHUT UP YOU STUPID MORTAL.”

Nick’s chair hit the far wall and span slowly on its back for several seconds before coming to a stop. Greg picked up his cup and stared at it until it was hot again. The Voice always made the universe forget to apply causality to him for a little while after he used it. May as well take advantage. “Are you okay,” he asked conversationally after a minute of silence.

Nick’s head peeked out from behind the lounge setting. “’ine” he squeaked.

Greg forced himself not to laugh. “Care to come back and sit at the table like a big boy?”

With a sniff of ruffled feathers, Nick picked up his chair and sat back down. “You mean its true? All of it?”

“Yes.”

“You come from a parallel reality where the world is flat disk on the back of four elephants riding a space turtle?”

“Yes.”

“Natural forces are personified?”

“And pretty serious partiers too. I used to hide under the table and listen to them play poker when I was a kid.” Greg could almost see the ‘Does Not Compute’ sign flash up behind Nick’s eyes. He sighed heavily and put his cup down. “I…I’ll understand if you want me to move out. I mean, there must be hundreds of hot young things out there for you to date who haven’t had to muck out the Pale Horses’ stable.”

Nick ducked his head, and Greg felt his heart sink. Slowly, he pushed himself up from the table. Nick’s hand shot out and latched onto his forearm. “Are you…you?”

Greg sucked at his tongue. “If you mean, am I Greg Sanders, funny guy, gifted labrat, wannabe CSI and hot lover, then yes. I’m him. I just…am occasionally something extra. From time to time.”

Nick grinned up at him, a smile full of sunlight and love. “You must be you if you’re quoting Dogma at me.” He reeled Greg in towards him as he also stood up. “And unless you’ve got a burning desire to go into the family business full-time after all, I think I can manage.”

Greg looped his arms around Nick’s waist, feeling loved. This was why he escaped to the Roundworld. He hadn’t know who it was back then, but he knew that the Discworld didn’t have Nick. “And if I do decided to take on the cowl?”

Nick rolled his eyes and kissed Greg’s forehead. “Well, as long as you promise not to leave your scythe lying around, I think I could adapt.”

“Love you.”

Nick sighed into their kiss. “Love you too. Now, have you had too much coffee or can we go back to bed?”

“Are we finished talking about my family?”

“For now.” Greg nodded. He could accept that.

“Then let’s go back to bed. And I’ll show you how slicing time can function as a sex toy.”

Nick’s face crumpled in cute confusion. “Slicing time?”

Greg laughed as he snatched up the ties of Nick’s bathrobe and towed him back into the bedroom. “It’s better if I show you.”

Nick was now wearing his ‘I don’t get it, but I’m going along with it’ face. “Hey Greg?”

“Yeah.”

Nick licked his lip. “Can you do the voice again? Cos that was really hot.”

Greg smiled and closed the bedroom door with a quiet click.

~#~

“Greg”

He slid to a halt on the linoleum and backtracked. “Yo!”

Griss looked up at him over the top of his glasses. “You haven’t put in your forms yet.”

“What forms?”

“For your time off to go to your sisters’ wedding.”

Damn Susan. “You heard about that, huh?”

Griss smiled that annoyingly knowing smile he had. “Your mother seemed to think you’d try and get out of it. Something about having to work extra shifts every time she asked you to go and visit?” He shifted into paternal mode. “Trust me, Greg, one day they’ll be gone and you’ll regret not going.”

Greg thought about his parents. “That’s unlikely Griss. And I’m not going, so don’t worry, you won’t be down a person.”

Griss stared at him if reading his every thought. “Okay, it’s your call. But take it if you want it, Greg. We’ll managed without you for a day or two.”

Grumbling, he continued up the corridor to the lab. How dare she? Who does she think she is? He turned the corner. She was Susan Sto-Helit, of course. Normal rules need not apply.

“Hey Greg.”

He slumped into the other seat. “Hey Archie, whachya got for me?”

Archie eyed him, obviously ready to comment. Greg stared back, almost daring him to say something. Archie blinked and turned back to the case. Greg listened to him talk about shadows and pixellation with half his attention. The other half was on his current predicament.

How dare she try and get Grissom to do her dirty work! 

No, the honest little voice inside him countered. She never does that. She’s just using every weapon in her arsenal. Good thing she doesn’t know Nick or…

The corner of his mouth quirked up as an idea formed. It would cost, but he could see the benefits greatly outweighing any temporary discomfort.

“Greg?”

He tapped the lab tech on the back. “Thanks Archie.”

He left behind his confused “no problem,” and headed back to Griss’ office. “Hey Griss? Are you sure it would be okay for me to take that night off? I mean, it’s already Nick’s scheduled night off.”

Grissom looked at him. “I thought it was Sara’s…”

Greg sighed and clicked his fingers. He walked around the frozen form of his boss, leaned over to the many piles of paper, found the roster, and made a quick switch. Returning it to the pile carefully, he walked back over to the doorway and reslung himself across the lintel. Click. “…rostered night. Just let me check…” He pulled out the piece of paper. “Oh. You’re right. It is Nick’s. How did you…?”

“I have a case waiting, so, is it cool? The time off, I mean.”

Griss waved him off. “It’s fine. Sara, Warrick, Cath and I can handle anything, I’m sure. If not, we can call Nick in.”

No, you won’t, Greg thought as he jogged back through the maze of labs. Because he’ll be with me.

He waited til after shift, when they were driving home in the pre-dawn glow of another Los Vegas morning. “Hey Nick?”

Nick didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Hey Greg?”

“Want to come with me to my sisters’ wedding?”

That earned him a flicker of attention. “I thought you said you weren’t going.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Can I ask why?”

Greg stared out the window at the streetscape flashing by. “Did I tell you why I left?”

“Something about not fitting in. You were kind of scarce on details, but I guess your family had something to do with it.”

Greg smiled at his reflection. “I’m gay.”

He could hear the confusion in his voice as Nick gamely tried to keep up. “I kinda noticed that, G. The brilliant blowjobs were my first clue.”

“How observant of you.”

Nick laughed. “Hey, I’m a trained investigator, baby.”

Greg sniggered, but quickly subsided back into silence. “Do you know how many homosexuals there are on the Discworld? Even amongst the humans?” He asked eventually.

“Dunno. How many?”

Greg pointed at himself. “Me. Well, there was this guy up in Borogravia who had a wholly unhealthy fascination with women’s clothes, but…well, my point is, there is a name for people of any sexuality who only have sex with themselves. Starts with an M and ends in asterbation.”

“You’re shitting me?”

“Nope.” He bit his lip. “Imagine the fun I had coming out.”

Apart from the hum of the tyres on the road, there was silence for several miles. “I can imagine it,” Nick said slowly. “But fun isn’t the word I’d used to describe it.”

Greg nodded as they turned the corner into their street. “They never really understood, no matter how many times I tried to explain. So in the end I just stopped explaining. Of course, the only conversations we really had were around me trying to explain, so…”

“No more conversations?” The car pulled up the driveway.

“Not as such, no.”

Nick turned off the engine and turned fully in his seat to face Greg. “So why the sudden urge to go back, with me, and…” The proverbial lightbulb went off. “Oh. Oh.”

Greg squirmed, embarrassed. “Sorry, babe. But maybe an object lesson will be enough to convince them that I belong here, not there.”

Nick was silent. Greg listened to the ticking of the engine cooling down and held his breath. “And I can go there?”

Greg nodded.

Nick reached over and took his hand. “Take a walk on the disc resting on the back of a flying space turtle? Certainly beats Mexico for a holiday.”

~#~

Greg wondered if Nick thought he’d actually get to see the turtle. Despite the fact that his lover had up until now showed no apparent interest in chelonology, Nick now seemed almost obsessed with turtles. Particular the interstellar kind.

“Nick,” he had finally said, as kindly as he could. “If you’re that interested, we can ask to borrow the Pale Horse and go do a few laps around A’Tuin.” He smirked. “Though I don’t know if your camera has a wide enough lens.”

Nick had been strangely quiet on the topic ever since. 

Of course, now that he was here, he was starting to think that maybe a scenic tour would be a better idea than going to this damn wedding. He leaned against the frame of the window and looked out at the gardens. Beyond the gates he could hear the noises of the city itself. Behind him, he felt Nick come over and wrap his arms around his waist. “What did you say this place was called again?”

“Ankh-Morpork. I grew up here.”

Nick kissed his neck. “Want to show me around?” He chuckled, a rumble deep in his chest. “Or would I be too much of a tourist?”

Greg pushed back into Nick’s hug, baring his neck for his further attentions. “It’s been so long, I probably count as a tourist now too.”

Nick shrugged, completely unperturbed. “Then we’ll be gawkers together. Come on, we’re not haunting this gothic monstrosity all weekend.” Tugging at Greg’s unresisting hand, he headed for the door.

They walked for miles, crisscrossing cobbles and catsheads. Greg steered Nick through the crowds as memory came rushing back to greet him. The Unseen University. The Patrician’s Palace. The crossed another bridge, and Greg caught sight of another familiar building. “Hey, come on. I want to see if Cheery is in.”

“Cheery?”

Greg strode confidently through the gates and into Psuedopolis Yard. “Cheery,” he said firmly. “The Disc’s first forensic specialist, and my first boss. Let me just see if she’s on shift.”

The officer on front desk duty, like so much, was unfamiliar to Greg. He stood, bouncing in place, as the Watchman yelled down the speaking tubes for nearly a minute before giving up and ducking out back to find someone to look for Longbottom.

Eventually, the small helmeted head poked around the corner. “Greg?”

Greg laughed and stepped forward, going to one knee to greet her man to dwarf. “Cheery! Still blowing things up?”

She laughed and hit him on the arm hard enough to make him wince. “Come through, come through.” She looked up speculatively as Nick stepped forward.

“Cheery, this is Nick. Nick, Cheery. She got me started in my field”

Some of his copious pre-briefing must have sunk in, because Nick extended a hand downwards with only a slightly rude stare at her beard. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Greg exhaled. Texan good manners. Never thought he’d be thankful for those.

Cheery led them out past rows of Watchmen and into the back of the building. Instead of turning left, she turned right and headed down the stairs. “New digs, Cheery?”

Cheery looked up at him with a wicked grin. “Yes, that’s right, you left before the extensions began. Come on, you’re going to love this. We got the old catacombs!”

Nick’s first impression was that it was as if a medieval monk had tried to construct a replica of the Crime Lab. From rough description only. Glass beakers on wire retorts bubbled away with the enthusiasm of a witches’ cauldron on the bench nearest him. In the gloom, Nick caught a flicker of movement as others worked in the cavernous space. “Wow,” he said honestly.

Cheery was beaming with pride. “The Disk’s most advanced criminal forensic lab.” She nudged Greg in the knee. “We’ve even got some of the older apprentices from the Alchemist’s Guild coming around looking for work now.”

Greg laughed. “Bet the masters’ love that.” He looked over at Nick. “They threw Cheery out of the Guild years ago,” he explained for his benefit. “Now, look at you.”

Cheery waved them to follow as she went deeper into the lab, her steel high heeled boots clicking across the flagstones. “Old Stoneface was pretty clever. He left standing orders that a section of the budget each year be allocated to us – means that Igor and I don’t have to play nice with the bureaucrats, and can get on with the real work.”

“Or the Great Work, in Igor’s case.” As they chatted, Nick turned to look at a greenish substance bubbling away, trying to see if he could identify it. Looking through the glass, he could see a pair of eyes studying him from the other side. He straightened, ready to politely greet his…colleague. The face he saw would have had him running off screaming if his muscles hadn’t turned to jelly and his heart hadn’t leapt into his throat.

“Ahh, Nick, this is Igor, our medical investigator.”

“Pleathed to meet you, thur.”

Nick fell in love with Greg all over again when he stepped in and took the proffered…well, it was on the end of an arm, so it technically must have been a hand. “Hello. You must be the new Igor. Greg Sanders.”

“Pleathure , thur,” Igor said pleasantly. “You knew my predethther?”

Greg drew line with his finger onto the flesh beneath his eye. “Yes. Same clan, I see.”

The Igor bowed. “Yeth, thur. You muth feel free to vithit anythime, thur. Thee what ith on the thlab.”

Nick ran that sentence through mental translation and suppressed a shiver.

Greg seemed completely unperturbed. “If we have time, I certainly will.” He glanced at Nick. “But now, I’m afraid, we have to get going. Flying visit and all.”

Cheery clicked her tongue as she lead the way back to the door. “Travelling all the way from Klatch, only to turn around and sail back almost as soon as you arrive.”

Greg tried for casual as he shrugged off her hidden question. “Time waits for no man.”

She looked at him with a gaze that could only be described as penetrating. “You of all people should know.” She turned to Nick and smiled perfunctorily. “Nice to meet you, Nick.”

Neither spoke again until they were clear of the yard. “Does she know…?”

Greg smirked sourly at the cobblestones. “I never told her. But despite height and species, she and Grissom have a lot in common. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had it all figured out.” Greg took a deep breath and visibly brightened. “Lets go find something to eat.”

~#~

“Are you sure the suit will be alright?”

“Fine.”

Nick looked up to where Greg was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the silk tie he held in his hands.

“And if I decide to teach the grooms’ relatives the Macarena?”

The same disjointed ‘fine’ floated across the room.

“And if I kiss your mother for making a son as hot as you?”

“Fi – what about Susan?”

Nick shook his head and came to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. “Should I be worried that it took a mention of your mother to get your attention.”

Greg didn’t respond directly. “Look,” he demanded instead, thrusting a perfect Winsor knot into Nick’s face.

Nick took it and loosened it. “Nice, but it usually goes around your neck first.”

Greg shook his head. “No. I’ve never been able to tie my ties. Hell, Cath always grabs me before court and ties them for me.” He sighed at Nick’s look of blank incomprehension. “It tied itself, Nick.” He shivered, hugging himself slightly. “It’s this place. I’m less normal here. I’m not me here. I’m someone else. And I don’t like it.”

Nick reached over and tugged Greg into a full-on hug. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re still you. You’re Greg Sanders. You’re a chem. geek and a trainee CSI and damn sexy and all the rest.”

Greg shook his head, rubbing his face into Nick’s shoulder. “No. Well,” he lifted his head and gave Nick a weak smile. “Still sexy, I guess.”

Nick pecked a kiss to the end of his nose. “See.” He lifted the tie over the back of Greg’s head and slipped it on. “So finished getting dressed. We’re going to be late.”

Greg scowled even as he lifted his chin. “You know, some boyfriends would consider this a perfect opportunity to skip the wedding in favour of some really hot sex to make me forget about my existential angst.”

Nick slid the knot into position with deft hands. “Wedding first. Hot sex later. Deal?” 

“Deal!”

Nick laughed at the puppy-dog hope that light up Greg’s eyes. “Then finish getting dressed. Sooner we arrive, sooner we can make a graceful exit.”

Stealing another kiss, Greg went off to look for his shoes.

Nick stretched out on the bed, well-versed in Greg’s last-minute dash method of getting ready for any occasion. As Greg took up the melodious humming that he always did when he was fixing his hair, Nick let his mind wander. He was going to meet Greg’s parents. He had tried, as delicately as possible, to grill Warrick, Cath and Sara about Susan, but they had little to tell him beyond physical characteristics. Greg’s descriptions had been harsh, but there was a part of Nick that refused to believe that they were truly that bad.

He had a fantastic relationship with both of his parents. Leaving them to move to Las Vegas had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do – he couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to leave them in another dimension of reality.

He laughed. A fortnight ago, alternate dimensions were something from late night docos on Discovery. Now he was in one. How cool was that?

“Nick? Ready!”

Nick stood and walked over to stand in front of Greg. Greg smiled back nervously, but with a familiar look of determination set onto his features. Nick smiled softly and ran his hand up Greg’s jaw, tilting his mouth up to receive his slow, languorous kiss. When they finally broke contact, all traces of nervousness were gone.

“Let’s go.”

~#~

It took about ten paces before the ticking began to set Nick’s teeth on edge. “How do they stand it?”

Greg shrugged, looking haunted as he scanned the crowd. “I guess you just tune it out after a while. Come on, let’s get this over with.” Looping his arm around Nick’s, he intertwined their fingers as they moved across the grassed courtyard of the Guild of Clockmakers. Greg wove them effortlessly through the crowd until they made it to the rows of seating facing the flower-bedecked altar.

“Some things are same at least,” Nick said with quiet relief as they took seats at the back.

Greg still looked haunted. “Don’t jinx it until we see whether or not the celebrant has brought their own rubber apron.”

Nick’s mind actually froze for a second. Carefully, he filed that mental image away in the part of his brain labelled ‘Freaky Shit – Do Not Enter.’

Beside him, Greg fidgeted in his seat as people streamed past, getting into position for the ceremony. Nick gently whapped him on the thigh, hands lingering a moment longer than strictly necessary. “Stop that.”

“Can’t help it, man. I’m surrounded by relatives.”

Nick’s head whipped around. “Really? Where?” He turned about around to find Greg staring at him in baleful silence. “What?”

He shook his head sadly. “Curiousity killed the cat, dude. Besides, why are you so eager to meet my family?”

Nick shrugged. “I just want to know where you came from, that’s all.”

Greg tilted his head to one side. “I’d give you the birds and the bees talk right about now, but I knowing my parents, I still have a few doubts on that score. Besides,” he continued. “I don’t think that who or where a person comes from has that big an impact on who they are.”

Nick shook his head, leaning forward into Greg to keep their conversation private as the seats around them began to fill. “Do you really think that? Because I’ve always thought my parents had a huge impact on me.” 

Greg nodded. “Having met your mother, I agree. But you were in the right place at the right time. You could have been born in New York City, yet still have that good ole boy charm in you somewhere.” He sighed and sat back in his seat. “Just the right place at the right time, you lucky bastard. No wonder you’re so cheerful all the time.”

Nick was saved from having to respond by the start of the ceremony.

~#~

They stood together, back to the courtyard wall, glasses in hand, and watched the procession of costumed arrogance move around the reception to the rhythm laid down by the string quartet in the far corner.

Beside him, Nick felt Greg stiffen slightly. “Ready?”

Nick looked around and saw her. Straight back, somber clothing strictly buttoned and the blonde hair with a black streak. As Greg tightened his grip on his arm, Nick put on his most pleasant expression. Time to meet the infamous Susan Sto Helit.

“Gregory. You made it.” Her tone of voice strongly implied that Bad Things would have happened to boys who didn’t.

Greg inclined his head, matching cool for cool. “Mother, may I introduce my partner, Nick Stokes. Nick, my mother, Susan Sto Helit.”

He extended his hand and laid on the Texan charm. “Pleasure to finally meet you, maam.”

Susan took his hand with a hesitation precisely calculated to communicate her low opinion of him without actually being rude. “How do you do.” It was a rote statement, not a question, and she turned back to Greg without waiting for an answer. “Please stop lurking in corners, Gregory, and come talk to your sister.” She turned smartly on her heeled boots and lead the way back through the crowds.

From his position at the rear of their little entourage, Nick could see the crowds part before Susan like a bow-wave as she led the way to the high table where the bridal party was holding court.

There was a kind of resemblance between Greg and his sister, but it was the kind that only went skin deep. The same bone structure, the same curve to the eye. But as Greg stood on the far side of the table exchanging forced pleasantries, it was obvious to anyone who cared to look that there was a distance between these two that would be near-impossible to bridge.

“Hello,” a voice said behind him. Nick turned, startled, to see an average looking man in a dark cloak that billowed around him. “You are Nick Stokes. The man my son brought home with him?” Nick became aware of a lack of noise. As he glanced around the colours shifted and darkened. The people around them slowed to a standstill.

Nick took a deep breath. Greg had warned him, but being warned about a thing and actually experiencing a thing are two entirely different propositions. “Hello, sir. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Time laughed, and below the normal human noise Nick was certain he could hear a sound like a thousand crystal vases shattering and reforming. “Gregory told you about me, I see.” He waved to the frozen world. “About all of us. Yet still you came.”

Nick managed a nod.

To his surprise, Time leaned in and winked conspiratorially. “Good. Smart and dedicated. I’ve been watching you both since you arrived here. You make him happy.” There was a kind of sadness to Time’s smile. “I’m glad someone could.” Between the space of one breath and the next, Time vanished and the world refilled itself with colour and noise.

Nick looked around automatically for Greg. He took one look at Nick and excused himself from a conversation with the groom. “Nick? What’s wrong?”

He took a deep, steadying breath. “Oh, I just had a chat with your old man.”

A flicker of something flashed across Greg’s features before ruthlessly made his face blank. “Really?” He looked around. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

They walked out without looking back.

~#~

Greg’s jerky movements spoke volumes about his pent up frustration and anger. Nick sat in the center of the bed, worrying the corner of the pillow he held in his lap as he watched Greg wind himself tighter and tighter.

“Greg.”

He didn’t look up from his packing. “What?”

“Greg,” he said again, more forcefully. He waited until Greg looked at him before patting the bed. “Come here, babe.”

When Greg clambered across the heavy sheets, Nick reached over and gently tugged at his shirt, pulling it off before encouraging him to lie on his stomach across the bed. Using long, smooth strokes, he began to run his hands up and down over the rippled skin of Greg’s back. The first few times he had tried this, Greg had squirmed, but now Nick knew the exactly pressure to use to ease the muscles beneath the scarred skin.

A thought occurred to him, but it didn’t seem the right time to ask.

“I had been normal a long time.”

“What?” Nick jerked himself out of his reverie.

Greg folded his arms and pillowed his cheek against them. “When the lab exploded. I had been normal so long, by the time I thought to stop time or slice it or do something, I was already through the window.” He closed his eyes, his face showing the pain of his memory. “Of course, after that I sliced so much time in hospital I’m surprised I didn’t slice myself in half.” He opened his eyes again and sought out Nick. “Time literally flew for recovery.” He grimaced. “I say I hate it, hate what that represents, yet when I need it I use it without hesitation. Does that make me a bad person?”

Nick didn’t hesitate. He leaned down and gently kissed Greg’s scarred skin. “I think that makes you very human.”

Greg twisted on the mattress, hooking the back of Nick’s head with his hand and guiding him down to kiss his mouth. Nick braced himself, planting his hands on either side as he lowered himself in the kiss. Greg’s hands began to roam up and down his back, slipping under the untucked hem of his shirt to rake nails down bare skin. Nick shivered, arching his back into the touch. “Please,” he whimpered as Greg pushed him over onto his back, straddling his thighs in one easy movement.

Greg’s grin was wicked, all traces of his earlier mood gone. “Please what?” he whispered as he ran his hands under the front of Nick’s shirt to rake his nails over his nipples.

Nick writhed as Greg’s nails bit lightly into his skin. “More. Please! More!”

Greg froze, hands splayed across Nick’s chest. “What?” he said flatly.

The Nick heard it. “SQUEAK. SQUEAK!”

He tilted his head back slowly. Into his vision, upside-down, leered the skeletal face of a small rat. “Uhh, Greg. Why is there a squeaking skeleton in bed with us.”

Greg’s hands slipped out from under his shirt as he rolled off Nick and fetched his own shirt. “Oh. Nick, meet Death of Rats. Rat, Nick.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “He says Susan is looking for us. So what’s say we blow this scene and go home.”

Nick didn’t take his eyes off the Rat. Rat waved a miniature scythe at him in a cheery kind of way. He gulped and rolled off the bed himself. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”


End file.
